Always
by AlchemistM
Summary: She is always on his mind; after all this time, and everything he has done... Even when death looms and lurks for him. Severus Snape centric. One-sided SS/LE. Re-posted and re-edited.


_"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"_

He stands there, a part of him knowing that this is the beginning of the end for him, squeezing down the traitorous thoughts that cause his heart to quicken.

He plays the fool; just another facade to add on top of another illusion.

Childhood-friend-of-Lily, Headmaster of Hogwarts, killer-of-Dumbledore, evil Death-Eater, Order-spy.

What is one more, truly, to add to the mix?

_"My lord?"_

These days he barely remembers who he is, with all the fragments he plays and stitches together to make a whole.

_Is_ he Severus Snape?

No, he decides, Severus Snape is long since dead; he had breathed his last when that filthy word had passed his lips – _mudblood_. That had been the day when he realized that he had lost the very thing that he held most dear.

What is he now then?

Merely a shell; hate and bitterness and emptiness and amnesia - all wrapped up in one, as always.

But he remembers _her_; in spite of everything, he also remembers his mistakes – clings to them fiercely, allows them to surround him like finely-pieced armor.

It is true: he had been lonely though when he was younger; had longed for power, had so whole-heartedly believed that _she_ would want someone who reveled in the Dark Arts.

And in the end, didn't it always came back to _her_?

These are hollow considerations of a former time though; he does not wish to think about them here, and he allows them to submerge beneath his many walls of deceit.

He watches as his "lord" raises the Elder Wand, holding it delicately and achingly possessive. He has the fierce desire to snatch it from his hands and snap it (would that even work?); to finally allow this a brilliant culmination.

He is growing wary of it all – so much he's done to atone, but it's never _enough_. It never will be.

He also hates the way those red eyes gleam in the dim lighting of the room, hates the way his pallid serpentine face twists and transfigures itself into something grotesque and disfigured.

_"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"_

But he does not wish to think of it, so he simply does not.

In this hellish place, so close to the Dark Lord, his mind drifts to her, as it always does. But the Dark Lord does not like waiting, so an answer must be given.

_"My - my Lord?"_ He makes sure the words are blank, after all, right now he is playing the fool; his mind dividing between this conversation and flashes of emerald and auburn, dancing eyes and soft strands of fiery red, _"I do not understand. You - you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."_

He no longer cares. He knows something is wrong now; maybe he has always known.

_"No, I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand... no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago."_

Controlled fury in his voice and eyes; only a first year Hufflepuff wouldn't be able to recognize it (dunderheads, the lot of them. oh how he _hates_ children), so it is needless to say he does, in fact, see it.

He licks his dry, thin lips and says nothing.

Sparkling green eyes and wide smiles are filling his vision; memories of long ago. He is not sure he is here anymore.

Severus Snape does not really exist, has never_ truly_ experienced existing except near those pretty, pretty green eyes.

Eyes that are (were, he reminds himself, were) the only ones that have (had, had; he has to repeat) ever really saw him for him; _gone_ now (something inside him screams).

_"I have thought long and hard, Severus. ...Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"_

And on and on it goes, the fool speaking now, mask firmly in place as he deflects, evades, and stutters his way through the interrogation his ''lord'' deems it necessary to put upon him.

He takes it in stride because that is all he has ever done. He knows nothing else.

When the time comes that the Dark Lord's intentions concerning him are revealing and unwinding, he feels nothing, because he has always suspected it would end this way.

He is to die at the hands of this deranged Half-blood with grandiose views of ruling and blood purity.

He feels as empty as usual, because he is not Severus Snape. He's never had the chance, and quite frankly, he is not sure he even wishes to be Severus Snape anymore.

What is the point if he has no flower to share himself with?

_"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."_

He protests merely for appearances' sake now, still so very tired, _"My Lord!"_ the words come out feeble, though it could be easily deduced as shock.

_"It cannot be any other way. I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."_

Potter.

The snake's voice rings throughout his shields, and for a second, he forgets his weariness, because it's always about Potter.

Potter. Potter. Potter.

He hates Potter for stealing her away… Hates her son even more for killing her.

Potter. Potter. Potter.

Always Potter.

Never Severus.

He watches, his focus almost entirely on the man he had once so proudly doted upon, as he flicks the Elder Wand.

Nothing happens for a moment, and he cannot fathom why he feels relief for a split second, but he does.

However, a second more, and he realizes just what his ''lord'' had set out to do because the snake's cage encases his head and shoulders completely, and sharp fangs pierce his neck.

He's dimly aware that he's screaming from the pain, his knees are collapsing and he's falling backwards onto the floor.

He's never felt such pain, such fire spreading from his shoulder, making its downward decent to his legs; he's twitching and crying and screaming like never before. He cannot even think of _her_ the pain is so great, and that is probably what causes his screams to louden, because he's always been able to think of her, even under Cruciatus.

That is what hurts the most.

He does not miss his ''lord's'' parting words either, strangely cold and unremorseful as the night.

_"I regret it."_

The cage is removed from his head and shoulders, and the fangs recede; the snake disappearing with his old ''Master".

Though he is still in pain, he rolls to the side and presses long thin fingers to the marks, his vermillion blood oozing out onto the floor.

He does not know why, but a part of him feels relief now even though the fire is still there. Maybe it's because he can finally think of her again. He can remember clearly the first day he saw her.

This makes him a delirious kind of happy, his life flowing out of him, because she's his world. She has always been his world, even as he lays here; an odd giddiness bursting deep within his chest.

Perhaps soon, he'll get to see her face once more.

... This time not in a dream.

He does not know how long he lays there, pressing his fingers to his wound (why he's doing that, not even he knows. something inside is telling him he cannot go yet), but one minute his eyes are losing focus and the next he's seeing Potter.

Oddly enough, he does not feel the familiar hatred just yet; he hasn't the strength to, looking up into those big green eyes. Because all of a sudden, he knows what he has to do; he has to make him understand.

His Vow would let him do nothing less, as knowing would inform Potter of just what he had to do to finally bring everything to a conclusion.

There is no time to hate anymore, for the moment.

_"Take... it... Take... it..."_

A conjured flask from the Granger girl, memories of _her_, of Albus, of himself, of Potter and Black, of all of them - pouring out of him. His motivation. His Vow. His sins and faults. All of it, leaking... His weaknesses. His love. His darkness. ...His light? Does he have such a _thing _inside him?

His grip tightens, black eyes looking at the silvery strands that are being herded into the bottle by Granger, filling it to the very brim with the very memories that define him.

When it is over, his grip slackens, and he knows it is almost time. Exhaustion and desolation are roaring inside him, battling for possession, and he still has not worked up the nerve to look into Potter's... _her_... pity filled eyes. It's the only thing he needs to see before he dies... one last glimpse.

He's scared though, that he's going to see only Potter, as he always has.

The Potter who stole her from him in the first place...

And Potter, the son who killed her...

They were, _are_, both the same, and he knows he is going to die hating them.

He will always hate them, he is sure, because there is no difference between the two of them.

Lazy, arrogant, spoiled rotten to the core...

And… they both took her away from him.

It is unjustified, irrational, cold, and cruel; but it feels so very right.

He has never said he is a moral person, and maybe he knows on some level that this is an awful way to go, hating her son; but he cannot bring himself to care. He is so very close to seeing her... moments away...

_"Look... at... me..."_ he whispers, the urge unbearable now, and is surprised to find the boy complying.

Emerald eyes meet black.

And Severus Snape lives once more...

Even as he dies.

_Lily..._

* * *

"I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter-"

"But this is touching, Severus," said Dumbledore seriously. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"

"For him?" shouted Snape. "Expecto Patronum!"

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe: She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

"After all this time?"

"Always," said Snape.


End file.
